


Honeycomb

by xoTheMonsterYouMade



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoTheMonsterYouMade/pseuds/xoTheMonsterYouMade
Summary: “My love is a bulging, blue-faced fool hung from the throat by sunflower stems.”- Honeycomb by Deafheavenx x x xIn which after a life full of chaotic blasting noise, Matty finds solace in silence. Silence is comforting, silence stretches on forever with no boundaries, yet it is known what it contains; nothing, absolutely nothing at all. But then Matty meets a being, and maybe this being makes Matty want something after all; something unknown and new, and maybe after all this time, he may find that the screaming and cathartic concept that is noise isn't particularly too bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been up for years on Wattpad as “Phantasm”, however I wanted to change the title to something more fitting.

Matty, from the start, wasn't normal; he could sense that, his family could sense that, his friends could sense it too. 

He never could really fit in the suffocating picture frame the world wanted to hang him on; he couldn't be a perfect picture, he couldn't smile at everything naively, his eyes glittering, his mind racing on something a typical kid would think about; toys or cartoons or sports. He observed everything, and even though his young mind couldn't ever fully grasp what was going on, he could tell from the beginning of his life that something was very wrong. There would always be yelling in the house, and eventually crying, and one of his parents would come to him and promise that everything will be okay; but Matty knew every time they were lying. They were trying to keep him in the dark, keep him happy and content, but it was much too late for that. 

Matty became mute; he knew how to talk of course, but he had always thought that his words were just lost in the chaos, in the thick ominous tension that filled the house like a fog. So because of that, Matty thought talking held no purpose. 

His first grade teacher was a nice lady; she wore bright colors, and her voice reminded Matty of the chirping birds outside of his window; he doesn't remember anything else about her. But she was concerned about him no longer talking, and had insisted that his parents take him to the doctor.

He had hated her for telling them to do that; he still, to some degree, does, even though she was saying that in his best interest. Her suggestion made his parents argue like never before, and he remembers watching the two go at it. Their eyes held daggers, and with each word said, another dagger was thrown. 

He watched as his dad ran back to his parent's room; his mom was still screaming at him, but his dad was dead silent. Then, he watched as his dad emerged with a suitcase in his hand; his mom grabbed his dad's arm, refusing to let him go, and in response, she was slapped. His dad then ran out the door, and Matty had no words to say; because his words wouldn't stop his dad from leaving, he knew that already. They never did a damn thing, and that's why he was like this in the first place.

His mom slumped against the dark muddy brown door, her eyes an icy blue, melting and letting out the oceans. Matty had a foolish thought; what if his mom's tears flooded the house? What if they would drown in the salty sea? His dad would open the door and be slapped with water rushing out of the home, and he'd find their pale ghost like bodies on the soggy carpet.

Matty quickly ran over to the bathroom, and ripped some toilet paper off of the roll. He walked over to his mom, who was still sitting and crying. He wiped the tears frantically off of her cheeks, and his mom slowly ceased to cry.

She then said, in the softest voice,

"Matty, honey... your father is a very mean man. He has been for a long time. He doesn't care about us at all; he only cares about himself. So yo--we shouldn't be sad if he decides to leave us for good. It's better for us this way."

His mom in that moment reminded him of one of those rags she used for dishwashing; a dirty old rag, drenched in water, squeezed and thrusted against grimy dishes. Worn out, and exhausted, but even in this state, Matty could see that she was weaving another lie. His dad wasn't a mean man; he was nice, he rode roller coasters with him, gave him toys, and he baked cookies. He helped Matty with homework, and the two of them would watch the news together on the weekend mornings.

But it was a weird lie, it was a lie that just didn't make any sense to Matty. Why would his mom tell him this? Why would his mom try to convince him that his dad was bad?

He didn't know, but he pretended to believe it for his mother's sake, and he snuggled next to her and sighed shakily.

The rest of the night was a blur, and the days after were too; they were all combined and mixed like the washable paint he used on craft days at school. 

x x x x x x

His dad didn't come back; but sometimes, he swore he could hear his dad's voice on the other end of his mom's phone when she talks into it. More so, when she yells into it, because his dad was the only person she seemed to act that way towards. Or maybe Matty was just telling himself that, just so he can be reassured that his dad did still care. Those loud phone calls had to be him begging to come back, or him asking about Matty. They just had to be; Matty can't imagine someone not caring about their family; he couldn't comprehend his father not thinking about them at all, just leaving them behind like they were just another season passing by, another short phase in a long winding life.

He never did see a doctor; he never was given medication or help. He just continued to be mute, and his mom didn't seem to care; maybe because she didn't like the loud noise from before, and him being silent helped her appreciate the quiet more.

The next time Matty saw his dad was around third grade. He didn't even know he would see him; all he knew that day was that he had to get up early, and dress up nicely. So he did, and when they reached the building, he didn't expect to see his dad's familiar blue truck in the parking lot. But he did see it, and he wanted to ask why it was there, but his voice didn't come to him, it was lodged in his throat just like it had been since first grade.

Once he walked into the room, he knew where they were at; they were at a courthouse. But why were they here? No one had committed a crime, had they? He didn't think so, and the tense environment made him extremely anxious.

He then saw his dad, and almost as if his mom knew what he was thinking, she gripped his shoulder, holding him back from running over to him.

He doesn't remember the trial fully; he doesn't remember specific words or anything, all he remembers nowadays is that it was loud, loud like how his house used to be. All he was thinking about at that moment was how his mom said his dad was a mean man, and the quote played over and over in his mind. It only made him scared, the odd out of place lie, and as his dad yelled and cried, the lie didn't seem so out of place, and the more the custody battle went on, the more he believed that the lie wasn't a lie after all.

He buried his head in his mom's arm, and tuned everything out, until the judge's voice rang out loud and clear,

"Full custody will be rewarded to Denise Welch. Tim Healy will only be able to have supervised visits with Matthew."

His mom began to cry again; but they were happy tears, and she hugged Matty tightly. Matty glanced at his dad, who's eyes looked hollow and empty, his mouth twisted into a frown. He was trying not to sob, but some tears leaked out. 

Matty didn't know how to feel, and to this day, he's still indecisive over his emotions over the custody trial. 

x x x x x x

Almost immediately, his mom and him moved out of their large spacious house, and into a small quaint apartment. It wasn't in the best neighborhood; his mom worked long hours as a waitress, and couldn't afford anything too nice. But even with her lack of money, she managed to buy some new furniture; like a small bed for Matty, a cradle for the coming baby (she was pregnant with Matty's brother Louis), and a new loveseat for the living room. The TV, as well as most of everything else, was brought in from the old house.

Matty never really fit in at school; his muteness isolated him from everyone else, and others made fun of him constantly for it. He only made one friend, Adam, and that was because Adam was too damn persistent for his own good. He tried multiple times to get Matty to talk; which irritated the hell out of Matty to say the least, but the effort was sort of flattering. Finally, accepting that Matty was most definitely mute, Adam talked to him by passing notes, and this made Matty very happy. Finally, someone outside of his family who accepted his muteness, who cared about him and liked him regardless of him refusing to talk.

Sometimes, he really did want to talk; but the idea gave him great anxiety. He hadn't heard the sound of his own voice in years, and he had no idea what it would sound like. Would it be high and squeaky like before? Or would it be deep like his dad's was? Did he even have a voice anymore? What if him not using it made it disappear, like he was Ariel, and Ursula the sea witch ripped it out of him?

He hated having all of these stupid ideas, all of these anxious foolish thoughts that kept him up at night. He wish he had someone who he could tell them to, without judgement. He needed some reassurance; and it was hard to get a good ton of it when he only communicated with one kid. He was pretty sure Adam would judge him as well; he was cool and popular, and all of those kids were mean, and he wouldn't be surprised if Adam was secretly mean too. Adam was probably talking to him out of pity, and the thought of that made Matty even more apprehensive about telling Adam anything that was bothering him.

In around fifth grade, Matty was staying up late thinking again. He didn't have any idea how late it was; he didn't have a cellphone to check, and he couldn't see the clock across the room. His eyes saw a shape; a distinctive dark figure, and he told himself that it was just his tired eyes making something out of nothing. This happened all the time to him, every time he stayed up really late. Maybe it was his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, making out dim objects in the distance. 

But the figure sat on the edge of the bed, and Matty could hear his bed softly squeak under the weight. This further petrified Matty, and he felt himself shake uncontrollably. What if this person was here to kill him? Would Matty be able to make himself scream? Or would he just suffer in silence?

A voice broke the stiff silence. It's a whisper, it honestly sounded exactly like Adam, except it was the slightest bit deeper in pitch,

"Hey... I won't hurt you, I promise."

Matty kept trembling, scooting back against the wall.

"I know you don't talk. That's fine. I can do the talking if you want, I have lots to talk about."

The figure rambled, not paying attention to Matty's petrified state. He glanced at the lamp on the nightstand near the bed as the person kept talking, and decided that he'd turn on the light.

His arm slowly reached toward the lamp, and he listened to the person talk as he continued to lean towards the potential light,

"I don't exactly remember my name. I think it started with a G. I just call myself George, so you can do that too. I don't know how old I am, I know I'm not an adult, but I'm not a kid either. I'm somewhere in betwe-- Hey! Don't turn on the light!"

Matty froze, his arm still in the reaching position.

"Please. I have to stay in the dark, or else I'll burn into ashes... I seriously am not going to hurt you, if I was, I would've done that by now. I actually would've done it forever ago while you were asleep... Okay that sounded creepy but... look, I've lived in this room for years. I go under the bed in the day time, and in the night, I come out here. I stand guard, and I try my best to protect the people who live here."

"Why, you may ask? I have nothing else to do; I'm limited to the boundaries of this house, I can't escape. In the beginning, I liked to scare others; it was fun. But it's not fun anymore; it just makes me feel like shit. I want to help others; I might as well since I'm stuck here. But it's hard to that when the light burns me up, and I can't get out of his house no matter how much I desperately want to."

"I don't know what I am. I'm not a vampire, I don't suck blood, even though I burn in the light. I don't think I'm a ghost, I mean I'm dead but I'm perfectly solid. I'm not a zombie, I don't eat brains, but I look grotesque like one. I'm a mix match of monsters; I don't fit in a category. The one that fits me the best I think is a boogeyman; I live under beds and I come out in the dark. But the name is so ominous and foreboding... I'm not a scary monster that drags people under my bed and into other dimensions and what not. I swear I'm fucking not... I'm just George. I've always been just that, alive or dead. I have no idea how I turned into this. I miss being accepted as just that. I miss being normal. I miss the light. I miss going outside. I miss people. I miss being alive"

Matty took his arm away from the lamp, and scooted back into how he was positioned before. He laid for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and then he analyzed the thing - George - sitting on the bed still, his head in his hands. 

George didn't looked deformed at first glance, but as Matty's eyes really adjusted to the dark, he could see some long sharp claws sticking out of George's fingers. George's ears were pointed at the tips, and his skin was full of large bubbling blisters. He couldn't see George's face, since it was buried in his hands, but he had a head full of brown hair, a couple small patches of it gone here and there.

Matty wanted to ask what exactly happened to George, and how he died, but Matty was still anxious about using his voice, and he was even more anxious about George in general who seemed to be having quite the emotional breakdown at the end of Matty's bed.

He didn't want to go to sleep with this monster just sitting there. But then again, according to George, Matty had slept while George was there on multiple occasions, and woke up just fine.

Matty gulped, and turned against the wall, curling up in a fetal position. He closed his eyes, and tried his best to fall asleep, but George was still crying. The sound nagged him, and even as his body was finally beginning to let go, and his brain was starting to slow down, he was still awake. He didn't know what to do, he didn't want to get up and find paper to write on; besides, it's almost impossible to read in the pitch black darkness.  
He didn't want to go hug George; that would be weird, and he didn't even know whether or not George was really telling the truth ( he could easily be a creep with completely different intentions, and that thought made Matty even more reluctant to let himself fall asleep ). 

His eyes fell upon one of his many sweatshirts lying on the ground. An idea came into his head; maybe he could wrap the sweatshirt around George's shoulders. It didn't involve any words, and it wasn't as awkward as a hug, yet it would show that he did care. Then again, George's vague figure seemed huge, towering, and Matty's tiny sweatshirt would probably not fit at all.

Matty didn't really want to take off his blanket; it was a frigid winter that year, and the air conditioner was incredibly weak and faulty. The only place the conditioning really seemed to work was in the living room, but he couldn't fall asleep on the loveseat no matter how hard he tried. It's not that it wasn't uncomfortable; it was because it smelled strongly of cologne, to a suffocating point. He hated the stench; it brought him closer to a truth that he, at the time, was too young to comprehend. His breaking point with trying to sleep on there was when he saw a weird sticky substance on one of the cushions, and it smelled even more gross than the cologne. 

With that, he never tried sleeping there again; and he can't even sit on there normally anymore. He just sits on the floor, which his mom thinks is weird, but he wasn't ready to confront his mom about whatever the hell was going on on that loveseat.

His thin body was shivering, and his fear and confusion over this 'George' increased that shakiness ten fold. But he didn't know what else to really do.  
So with pale quivering hands and a held in breath that couldn't be let go until the deed was done, he took off the soft blanket, and cautiously scooted over towards George. He slowly laid the soft cloth on George's broad shoulders, the crying stopping with the gentle touch of fabric.

George smiled warily, wiping a tear from his cheek,

"Thanks. But I think you need this more than me."

Matty shook his head 'no', and picked up a sweatshirt off the floor (the same one that gave him this brilliant idea in the first place). He covered himself in the sweatshirt, using it as his new blanket.

"Dude, you can't possibly sleep like that. Here."

Matty shook his head again, silently insisting that George keeps the blanket.

George sighed, and Matty heard the creak of the bed as George got up. 

Maybe George was leaving, or maybe this was the moment that he revealed that he was really a crazy serial killer. Is this how it'll end, with Matty freezing in a corner, the only thing keeping him warm later being the blood pooling out of his body from shots or stab wounds? 

Matty felt something warm being put on top of him. It wasn't quite big enough to be the blanket. It was fabric though, and Matty's head was scrambling to figure out just what it could be.  
Then another small thing of fabric was draped over him, and another. The small little pieces were coming together to create something just as warm, maybe even warmer, then his blanket that he gave to George. It felt nice, and it soothed his nerves.

Something in his brain was yelling that maybe George will take one of these fabrics and suffocate Matty with it. But yet another part of his brain was telling him that George would've killed him forever ago if he intended to hurt Matty.

So he just let himself finally fall asleep with the ever increasing amount of fabrics, his body slowly becoming warmer and warmer, until he finally felt like he was the sun, burning with sweet heat.

x x x x x x

The next morning, when Matty woke up, he found what it was that George was using to cover him up. It was all of Matty's various dirty sweatshirts that were laying on the floor, they were piled on top of his body, various colors blending and coming together to create, simply, a large mess. It was weirdly artistic, and Matty found himself liking how these sweatshirts were arranged, even though there was probably no real particular design to the chaos.  
His floor actually seemed somewhat clean with his clothes picked up. He liked that quite a bit too. Maybe he should actually try putting in effort in organizing his room.

The blanket Matty gave to George was folded up neatly at the end of the bed. Speaking of George, he was nowhere in sight. What did he say yesterday, that he hid underneath the bed during the day?

Matty looked underneath his bed, and didn't see George. He found himself frowning, almost disappointed. Where did he go?

His mom then opened the door, interrupting his thoughts,

"Hey, breakfas-- Matthew Healy, what on Earth?! Why are there dirty clothes on your bed? I told you to do your laundry like a week ago!"

Matty shrugged, the best non verbal apology he could really give.

His mother bit her lip, and muttered,

"You're lucky that I'm just about to put a load of my clothes in. I'll put in some of yours too, just go and eat your eggs before they get cold. Please remember to do it next time though, okay? This the second... no third, time this month."

Matty nodded, and walked out of his room as his mom walked in. Before he could go any further, she called to him again,

"Hey, Matty?"

Matty glanced back at his mother, and she asked him,

"Are you doing okay? You seem... glum."

He simply gave her a thumbs up, thankful that he didn't have to speak and explain his answer at all.  
Matty is a terrible liar, and was never really good with words in the first place. This is a simple, less stressful way of answering complex questions such as that, questions that if he spoke to answer, he would stumble over his words clumsily.

"Alright. Just making sure sweetie."

He continued on his way to the eggs. His mom made the best eggs, and he could smell them as he walked into the kitchen.  
There they were. Sitting on the gray countertop, a beautifully scrambled masterpiece with eggs, milk, and cheese. This usually was the best part of his day, a serene quiet moment where he could just sit and not be stressed out, where he could focus his little amount of energy enjoying his food and doing nothing else. 

But even as he shoveled the first delightful bite into his mouth, his mood didn't improve. He was still worried about George. He knew that he would probably think about the weird man all day, wondering what exactly was going on with him. The worst part of it was that he couldn't tell a soul, not even Adam, because no one would really believe him. They'd think he made it all up for attention or something like that. So he would, like he did with everything up, keep it bottled up inside.

He knew that this bottle would pop open soon, and that the liquid inside would explode out and leave a tedious mess on the floor. But this was normal nowadays, routine, and he was used to cleaning up his own messes.  
Maybe he should get help for this, maybe this shouldn't be normal, but then again, nothing was ever normal for Matty Healy, who was mute and most likely had severe depression at age ten, who's dad seemingly walked out on him, who used to (before this house) have to fall asleep to cries like they were sweet lullabies, who's mom was hiding something maybe even less normal then all of these things combined, who's only friend probably is only there out of some obligated pity, who's worried about a weird (possibly undead) guy who randomly popped up in his room in the middle of the night. This wasn't a stereotypical normal, but it was normal for Matty, and he was content with it all.

But content doesn't mean that he doesn't want it to change. Because he would give anything for this to change, anything for a better situation, some actually good friends, a somewhat stable family life.

But for a young kid like Matty, it all seems so out of reach, so incredibly impossible. He didn't feel like any power over what happened in his life, and it scared him. 

So he's found that it's better to just let himself wash away with the current instead of trying to swim and fight whatever happens next. It's less draining, and he can fake being happy and satisfied so much easier.

He finds it ironic how when he was little, he was afraid of his mom's tears drowning the two of them. He had a strong will to live, and even though he knew something bad was happening, he was still at least hopeful and optimistic.

But now, he's letting himself drown, and he's wondering just how far he'll sink before he finally floats to the top, and is gone for good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matty questions George about what he really is, and also makes a big decision.

Around a week or so later, Matty purposefully stayed up late. He found that for some reason, it was harder to stay awake when he actually tried to; his eyes fluttering, struggling to keep open, and his brain seeming to flicker on and off, consciousness and comprehension coming in scraps and pieces. He waited for George to come back, and he didn't quite know why he was doing this, maybe it's because whatever it was seemed interesting and new, and made Matty feel as if his life isn't just an ended TV series playing reruns of the same used story lines over and over again. 

As the sky outside his window turned from a faded denim blue to a gaping and infinite black, he became more increasingly anxious. The ticking clock didn't help, the noise getting louder and louder with each passing moment.

Finally, just when Matty was about to let sleep take over, and give up on this utterly stupid idea, he saw a faint shadow crawling out from under his small twin bed.

George's voice was soft, but the sound nonetheless crashed like ferocious waves against the shore in Matty's muddled and exhausted mind:

"Dude... why are you up this late?"

Matty had a pad of neon yellow sticky notes and a green crayola marker. He prepared himself for this moment, where he could communicate with George and prod him with questions of all kinds. He at one point had the questions he wanted to ask memorized, but as George sat next to him, and the cap was popped off the marker, all of Matty's careful preparation came undone. He sighed, and decided to wing it. He didn't drink those three cans of Mountain Dew for nothing, after all.

I wanted to talk to you, that's all. Can you even see my handwriting?

He wrote, and showed the paper to George. It took George a moment, his eyes squinting at the paper in concentration. He grinned,

"Yeah, I can. What do you want to talk to me about?"

You. 

"Me? Like my life??? Or death??? All of that complicated shit in between and after??? Well okay... But only if I get to ask you stuff too. We can like, take turns asking questions or something like that."

If Matty could, he would've sighed heavily just then. What kind of shit would George want to know? What does he not know already honestly? If he really had been staying and guarding this room over the last few years, he probably knew Matty better than Adam, or hell, even Matty's family. He would've seen Matty cry over his many insecurities, and seen Matty put his ear up against his bedroom door, desperately trying to hear his mom's screamed words, and he even would've fucking seen the time Matty opened his window, and dropped an old ratty baseball his dad gave him when he was younger. 

George probably had no idea of the intention behind that drop, which was to see how far the fall was from Matty's window, to see if it might just kill him.

Matty decided that if the incident was ever brought up, he'd lie about why he did it, or he'd claim he didn't remember that ever happening. 

Alright. George, if that actually was your name, who were you? What do you remember about your life, if anything at all?

"I remember nothing worthwhile. I remember little insignificant fragments, like the flavor of my last girlfriend's lip gloss, or the rush of being in a pit at a punk gig, or the comforting stench of black coffee in the morning. I remember pathetically trying to paint my nails and having them get chipped off almost immediately. I remember opening the window over there and gawking at a meteor shower, stoned out of my fucking mind. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I was way too close to making a stupid decision to climb on the roof to get a better view. I remember watching TV the day Kurt Cobain died, and crying later that night because I looked up to that fucker so much. He didn't even know I existed, yet I still sobbed about it. How pathetic is that shit? The most pathetic part of this is that I don't remember any of my family at all, none of the people that should matter. I don't remember my last name, and I don't remember my birthday. I don't remember how exactly I acted, but judging from those few memories I do still have, I must of been pretty fucking stupid. So who was I, really? I was no one important. I was just a typical fucking edgelord from the nineties who thought they were cool because they did hard drugs and wore ripped jeans and flannel."

George glanced over at Matty, and frowned in disappointment. 

Matty was fast asleep and snuggled into his blanket, his expression peaceful and seemingly serene. George couldn't help but wonder if Matty had heard anything he just said at all.

He wouldn't have been mad if Matty didn't, because Matty did seem pretty tired. But what Matty didn't know is that George lost more and more memories of who he used to be with each passing day. 

The day that George forgot everything about his old life was a day that George dreaded with every fiber of his being. It was terrifying to think about, having no identity, no origin, no memory of what it was like before he burned out like a sparkler and became this beast. 

He would bare no resemblance to the person who once inhabited his shell. He would just be empty and cleaned out, like this apartment before it was bought, all the individuality gone with the last owners leaving.

His hand raked through his hair, and he stared out the window. 

With that, he realized that he would've given anything to go back to that meteor shower, back to a time where things seemed so fucking complicated, but were really stupidly simple. Back to a time where everything was so sharp and real, and the pictures were never blurry, and back to a time where George felt painfully alive instead of numbly dead.

x x x x x x

Matty did, in fact, hear most of what George said.

He had heard everything up to what Matty assumed was a bitter conclusion, a sad one sentence summary of a life that George seemed to think was absolutely meaningless.  
In Matty's mind, it wasn't meaningless though. All lives, to him, had a purpose, a reason behind why they were here. Maybe George was still searching for his at the time of his (most likely abrupt) death, and maybe that's why he thinks he was so insignificant, so utterly unimportant. 

But most don't see their purpose till the end of an old life, a life full of experiences connected to each other like constellations in the night sky, some stars shining brighter and more brilliantly than the others. But George's just couldn't see the connection, all he saw in his night sky was an explosion of chaos, a mess of glitter dumped on a dark piece of construction paper.

Matty wishes he could somehow convince George otherwise, that his life very important and that he did have quite the impact on people, but he knew there was no way he could. He didn't know anything about George besides his first name, the little scraps of memories he shared, and his complexion (which was distorted by blisters and gore). It would be too difficult to dig into his past, a past that seemed to be lost in the tiniest stretch of time.

But maybe Matty could convince George that he was important now though, after his death. He didn't know how he'd do it, but he'd manage to find a way to, because he couldn't just let George believe that he had no purpose at all. A purposeless person is usually a miserable one, and Matty just couldn't let George feel like that, he fucking couldn't.

Matty would never admit it out loud, not then, not now, not later either, that maybe this was him trying to find a purpose too. He was just as lost as George, and maybe his purpose, at least right then, was to help George in whatever way he could. 

So that, he did.

x x x x x x

It was six years later. Matty was at the age of sixteen; he was much more aware of the world around him. He now knew that his mom was a prostitute, and that the 'mysterious' stain that his ten year old self found on the couch was from cum. 

He stopped wondering about what his mom was saying when he heard her yelling on the phone; he had found that during the last couple years, all the wondering would do is make him feel even more anxious than normal. 

Anxiousness was a constant feeling to Matty; a prickling sensation that flooded his body on a daily basis, drowning out any rational thought, his lungs gasping for air, and his brain burning up like a cigarette. He was so bloody terrified every day; he was questioning his sexuality, his gender, his whole measly existence up to this very point, and the thought of being anything that's not a stereotypical cis straight boy made him want to rip himself apart at the very seams. 

He wanted to be normal, and when everyone around him seemed like they were screaming about how weird and wrong it is to not be straight, to not identify with something outside of the gender given to you at birth, he felt like he had to conform to their standards. He was already bullied enough for being mute; this would all just add on to it, and Matty didn't think he could handle that. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back, the thing that finally made Matty crack underneath the suffocating pressure of the world around him.

There was only one person he could admit all of these confused feelings to, and that was George. The two had become extremely close over the last few years, and Matty had stuck to trying to achieve the small purpose he had come up with when he was ten; to help George realize that he was important. He hadn't totally gotten George to believe this yet, but he was damn near getting close, and that made Matty feel bloody elated.

On this particular evening, Matty decided that he would try to make himself speak. He was running out of sticky notes yet again, and he was tired of spending so much money on the stupid things. Also, he was tired of trying to phrase things correctly on paper; it was getting more and more difficult as Matty's feelings about the world, about himself, and about George, got more complicated.

It was about seven at night on a particular fall evening, and Matty was sitting cross legged on the floor in his room. His whole body was shaking; not because he was cold, but rather because he was freaking out over finally breaking his decade long silence.

He didn't know what he was going to try to say first; would it be something basic like 'hello', or would it be something much more significant, like an 'I love you' or an 'I'm sorry'.

He decided that since he was by himself, he would start off with something small.

He closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. He felt like the world was holding it's breath, waiting for the seemingly insignificant phrase to slip out of his chapped lips, and fade into the background with all the other words being spoken at this very moment in time.

It was the reasoning why he stopped speaking in the first place, but he was coming to realize that everything is going to fade into time eventually. Not just words, but this place, this life, this memory, and all other things. One day, everything on this Earth will cease to exist, being sucked into time's merciless black hole. Nothing will matter then, and nothing should matter now, and with this thought in mind, he finally was able to squeeze out a barely audible,

"Hello."

His voice was deeper than he remembered; a result of puberty most likely. It was scratchier than he remembered too, and muttering out the word made his throat feel like it was being choked. But this simple word was progress, progress of an incredible degree, and he couldn't help but grin like an idiot after the word seemed to echo off the walls, bouncing around like a pinball not only in this space, but in Matty's mind.

He spoke the word again, louder this time,

"Hello!"

He started having a coughing fit after that. Progress was going to come slowly, maybe more slowly than Matty secretly preferred, but he didn't mind at all. 

He broke his seemingly infinite unbreakable silence, and that's all that mattered.

x x x x x x

George came that night, as always. He found Matty on the floor, curled up in a blanket, reading The Killing Joke with a flashlight. When Matty heard George approach, he put the comic away, and turned the single light off, letting the room being engulfed in darkness.

"Hey,"

George said, taking a seat next to him,

"What's up? And where's your sticky notes? Like, do you not feel like talking today? Because that's totally cool if you don't."

George still can't get over how much Matty has changed over the years. He went from a small slightly chubby person with short hair, to a tall lanky person with long frizzy curls that seemed to bounce whenever Matty even slightly flinched.

Puberty was hitting Matty like a truck, and George was beginning to find Matty quite pretty. But he didn't want to admit this to Matty; because he was technically a lot older than Matty if you count the years since his death, and that'd be gross. 

Then again, he didn't know how old he was when he died, and he didn't know exactly how many years it had been since then. He just knew that he was older, and that made him wait to talk about his weird crush-related emotions. 

Also, Matty probably found George's appearance to be disgusting, and would never even dare to touch him, especially in a sexual or romantic way. 

"Hi George..."

It took George a moment to realize that Matty had actually just talked,

"You just... holy shit... holy fucking shit..."

"I know,"

Matty smiled, his cheeks a rosy red.

"When did you start... ya know, trying to talk? Today?"

Matty nodded silently.

"I'm so happy for you. Like seriously... That's amazing..."

Matty crawled over to the desk, and opened the drawer with the sticky note pad (which wasn't even a pad; it was close to being just nothing, as it only has five pieces of paper left) and the almost dried out green marker. He crawled back over, and wrote. It took a moment, and then he gave the small paper to George. It read;

I've been trying to learn how to pronounce stuff again. I've got some basic words down, but that's about it. It'll take awhile for me to be able to speak all the vocabulary I know but, I hope to achieve that by the end of this year. It's an unrealistic goal, I know, but I'm tired of being made fun of, and damn it, I want to be able to stand up for myself. Also, it's getting more and more difficult to fit all the shit I want to say on paper so...

"I don't think your goal is unrealistic. I think you can do it, if you just practice. I can help you, if you like."

Matty took the paper from George, and wrote on the back;

That would be awesome. Thank you.

"You're welcome. It's no problem really."

Matty took another piece of paper from the pad, and scribbles,

Not just for this. But for everything.

But before giving it to George, Matty decided against giving it, and ripped the paper into pieces. He didn't know why he couldn't give it to George; it would've probably made him feel great. But he felt like it was all too revealing, revealing of some underlying complex feelings that Matty didn't want to dive into or think about.

George's expression flickered to one filled with confusion, before asking,

"So... what words would you like to learn first?"

x x x x x x


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matty has trouble giving a presentation in class, and gets into an argument with Adam. Matty also gives George a heartfelt gift

Matty had, with help from George, met his goal of being able to speak his whole range of vocabulary by the end of that year. But with overcoming this large obstacle, came another, and this new obstacle was a stutter.  
It wasn't too terrible of a stutter in Matty's mind at first; it was just insignificant little hiccups in his speech, little interruptions that wouldn't even slow the flow of his words much at all. But it seemed like the world was keeping all eyes on him now, his words seeming to be more closely monitored than the others around him. It was like the world didn't want his words to become trapped again, as if he spoke in stanzas and every conversation he had was poetry, and the universe liked hearing his scratchy voice paint blank canvases with his beautiful language.

People hung on to his every word when he read aloud in English class, waiting for something; something bad, like one of those hiccuping stutters or those mispronounced words or phrases, or maybe they were waiting for him to shut up entirely, to go back to a silence that once seemed eternal. But he, so far, had been lucky that he hadn't stuttered or mispronounced anything when reading aloud, and no one knew that the boy who's voice seemed smooth as velvet was rough and frayed around the edges, and that his words weren't really stanzas; they were simply normal words that were exaggerated and stretched to fit everyone's shitty romanticization of Matty and his disorder that still plagued him often.

But then came that fateful day in February, where he had to present his project to his fellow classmates. It was a simple and plain presentation, with blank robotic colors and a rare few words marked with little bullet points. The details behind the basic points were on little neat notecards, all of them a bright blinding pink color. The topic assigned to him and the other students was to compare and contrast the book they had just read in class (Of Mice and Men) to another story, film, play, etc etc. It was the most basic assignment in the world, an easy A for Matty, but little did he know that this stupidly simple assignment would lead to a complex downfall of sorts for him, all because for some reason on that particular day, luck wasn't on his side.

Matty had a cold first off, so it was already hard to speak without his voice coming out as nasally and congested. Second, he had gotten no sleep the night before; and it wasn't because of George, it was mainly because he was worried about his younger brother Louis. He didn't know what exactly it was about Louis that bothered him so much, but something about his brother just struck him as odd lately; he seemed a little distant and disconnected, and weren't younger kids supposed to be way too present and way too obnoxious, connecting insignificant and irrelevant things to one another like broken spiderwebs and being too imaginative for their own good??   
Matty wasn't too sure, but Louis's behavior reminded him way too much of himself at that age, and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't want Louis to go what he had gone through, hell he wouldn't really wish what he had gone through on anyone. 

He had pretended to fall asleep the night before, just so George wouldn't worry about him. But the whole night, he proceeded to watch the backs of his eyelids, pitch black darkness, an empty abyss of nothingness. The nothingness seemed to engulf his body too, every part of him feeling numb, as if he was standing outside in the freezing winter, a blizzard hitting him at full blast. But just as he was about to finally succumb to the cold, he had felt George peck his forehead with a kiss, and the sensation burned through Matty's veins and made him come alive again, mind reeling over what this just might mean. Would Matty complicate things and bring it up later, or  would he pretend he never knew it happened at all? He didn't know, and these thoughts managed to unintentionally make him pull a full nighter.

So there he was, in class, exhausted to the point where standing drained as much of his little energy as a jog would, and his brain a foggy incomprehensible mess.

His teacher pulled up his presentation on the computer, shared to her via Google Drive, and he stood there next to the smart board, trying to run through what he was supposed to say in his mind. It seemed like all would go decently well, but of course, rotten luck made sure otherwise.

It started literally on the first slide, and he found himself stuttering on the simple word 'Mice'.

It was almost like he could feel the ice finally giving away beneath his feet, the cracking of it echoing all around, as loud as a firework yet as swift as a bullet. He was swept in the current of it all, and his words were swept away too, and he was stuttering and stuttering again and again, trying to grab hold of these words as if they were lifesavers. But his grip was faulty, and every time he thought he finally had one, he would let go of it, and he was struggling all over again.

By the end of the presentation, his face was red, his nose was in desperate need of a tissue, and his eyes were watery with held back tears. The other students weren't laughing out loud, but he saw how some of them had their mouths covered, trying to hide their grins. Some of them looked at him sympathetically, and others were whispering amongst themselves. They probably thought he couldn't notice all of these little things, these little details scrambled and mixed together amongst the room, but he did, he noticed everything to an agonizing degree, and he could see how much he massively fucked up not just the presentation, but everything.

The bullies didn't bother him as much anymore; he was talking now, and the thing they targeted was the fact that he didn't do just that, so now they had nothing to give him shit about. But now they do have something; they have this stutter, and these once little hiccups in his speech will turn into full blown hacking ups, and everything will certainly go downhill from here. All because of one stupid presentation, all because luck decided to fuck him over in a massive way.

As he sat down, he felt his heart twist, and his stomach got nauseous. He raked a hand through his long curly locks, and sighed deeply.

"You did fine, don't beat yourself up over it."

Adam said, a sympathetic glint in his warm eyes.

Matty didn't have the energy to argue back, yet he didn't want to let Adam think that he agreed with him; so he simply shook his head in denial, and let his eyes wander to literally anything and everything else, such as the new girl's night sky esc colored hair, or the neon green mechanical pencil that laid on the tile floor, or the pink bubble some fuckboy was blowing, blowing and blowing until it popped right in his face, the sticky gum getting all over his mouth and nose. Matty had to restrain himself from giggling at the spectacle, and for the moment, he lulled himself into a calm trance state; a state where he felt like he was just a silent observer of this weird chaotic world going on around him, a world going by at thousands of miles per hour, and he was just standing still, in the midst of the speed and the harsh noise.

Standing still that is, until he was shaken by Adam, who had been trying to communicate with him, and he just hadn't noticed at all because he was so distracted with this observing of his.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry..."

"It's fine. Dissociating again?"

"Yeah..."

"You've been doing that a lot lately dude... and you've been saying a lot of really depressing shit too... it worries me a lot, like you should really see someone about that. Maybe a therapist or a psychologist or whatever... just someone, anyone professional at all."

"I've told you this a million times Adam; not only is my mom cheap in general, but she'll never spend money on something she thinks is just me exaggerating and being a teenage 'emotional hormonal mess' as she puts it. She thinks this is all temporary, that it'll pass with age. But I'm not sure it will."

"I don't know how she doesn't think something is up with you mentally when you were fucking mute for ten years. Like, that's not normal."

"I know, I know."

"I don't want to offend you or anything but like... you need some serious help. Something is really wrong with you, and I've tried helping the best I can but... nothing I do seems to work, and I seem to be the only person you really talk to besides your mom. I thought when you started talking, maybe I--we--you, made a breakthrough but... I was wrong, you're just as negative as you were before, in fact, you seem to just vocalize it all even more, and it just sucks."

Matty, even though Adam just had said that he didn't want to offend him, was really quite offended by Adam's little ramble. He knew there was something wrong with him, he knew that ten years ago when he stopped talking in the first place, and maybe he even knew something was off with him before that point. He never was normal; and he knew he never would be, and even though he knew that was the most edgelord-ish belief in the world, he just couldn't help feeling that way.   
He didn't need Adam to remind him of that, and he honestly hated talking to Adam about anything depression related, because he just didn't understand him. In fact, he was beginning to hate talking to Adam completely; the two had nothing in common, and even though Adam claimed he cared, it was obvious that it was all an obligated sham. It wasn't like Adam really wanted to talk to him, hell they've never hung out outside of class once. During the years that the two didn't share classes at all, Adam wouldn't even acknowledge him in the halls when Matty would wave to him. It made Matty feel like shit, because he thought he had a friend, but he was finding out very quickly that he was wrong.

Adam made Matty feel normal; maybe that was why it took so long for him to realize how much Adam didn't care. Matty was so desperate for some kind of normalcy, some kind of stability, just something that fit the stereotype of what his life should be, that he didn't want to look past that this was a blatantly obvious pity party, and Adam threw it all for him. He was dizzy and disoriented from the glitzy decorations and the poison laced in the delectable snacks, and now he was finally escaping this hellish party and fully realizing why the party was even thrown in the first place.

"Matty?"

The hour bell rang then, and Adam stared at him, anticipating some kind of reassuring response, something that would tell him that what he said was perfectly fine, that Matty understood what he meant and agreed. But he got the complete opposite of what he expected.

"You know, I do talk to other people besides you; people at school and outside of it. Don't act like I depend on you for my well being; because I don't, I'm perfectly fine without you. You're just another acquaintance to me; just another easily replaceable person I interact with. You think the same of me; except you're trying harder to hide it. You claim that you're trying so hard to help me, but all you do is continuously remind me of how fucked up I am. You think me finally talking was because of your pathetic attempt at helping? No, it wasn't, it was because of my own determination, and a little help from someone who actually cares. So please, just shut up, and get off your high horse, and lets talk about something insignificant like acquaintances are supposed to, like homework or the weather." 

Adam was speechless; which was exactly what Matty wanted, but at the same time, Matty knew he had just removed the one normal constant in his life, and that made his heart hurt and his eyes watery. He couldn't cry in front of Adam; it would show that he gave a fuck, and that's exactly what he didn't want to do. So he walked away, out the classroom doorway, and onto his next class, weaving through the people in the hallways so there would be no way Adam could find him and catch up.

x x x x x x

Contrary to Matty's belief, Adam did care.

Adam knew he had an issue with phrasing things and being empathetic; it was ingrained in his personality, and he knew that he'd never fully break out of it. But he was trying to improve; and it was so hard to try putting himself in Matty's shoes. His life was just such a mess; while Adam's was organized and almost perfect in a way. His family was stable, and also rich, so he didn't have to worry about being in debt for college. He had a nice girlfriend, a rather plain looking girl named Olive. He had great grades, all As, and he was hoping to become a surgeon.   
Matty's life was nothing like Adam's, not in any way, shape or form. His mom was a prostitute, his parents have been divorced for years, and he was mute for years because of (what Adam thought) was the odd belief that his words weren't worth anything. Not to mention that Matty has had severe depressive episodes since the two had first met, and that was only at age ten.

Matty just worried Adam so much; it was beginning to drain Adam mentally, and maybe that was why he was being more aggressive with Matty getting actual help; Adam didn't want to seep down to that kind of low that Matty constantly was at; the idea terrified him to death. He didn't want everything to go to shit just as things were becoming really great.

When Matty said they were just acquaintances, it initially stung. But when Adam looked into Matty's eyes, he saw obvious pain, and he knew very well that Matty was lying. But Matty wasn't lying about Adam being a dick, and Adam wanted to ask him what he could do to improve himself, or how to 'actually help' Matty. But before he could ask, Matty had stormed off. Adam tried to see where he went, but he was lost in the sea of people, and so Adam had to sit in his next classes, feeling terrible about whatever the hell he did to cause this.

After those classes were over, Adam walked outside to find a gruesome sight. Near the main entrance of the school, was Matty. He was getting pummeled by a mob of tall, somewhat muscular guys. George could barely see Matty; at this distance, he was just a small curly haired blur. But what he did see, mixed with those blurry chocolate hues, was a vibrant red. It stood against the other bland colors like a beacon, a bright fiery signal screaming for help and immediate attention.  
Adam's reaction was instant and impulsive. He ran up the the mob, and pushed some of the non-active participants out of the way until he could perfectly see what was happening.

Matty was on the ground. His nose was bleeding, his lips and eyes swollen, and he was curled up in a ball as one particular guy kicked him over and over again. Adam immediately punched this guy in the face; the blow caught the guy off guard, and the force of it caused him to stumble and almost fall. His goons caught him though, and the guy asked Adam,

"What are you doing man?? This doesn't involve you, okay?? So fuck off."

The guy had blue eyes, but they weren't a normal blue, they were a blue that seemed to be electrified with lightening, a sharp vibrant color that stung when looked at for too long. Those electric eyes glared straight into Adam's, and maybe this guy's iron glare would be intimidating to most people, but it didn't scare Adam a bit.

So with that, Adam firmly stated,

"My friend is involved though. Which makes me involved."

"You're actually friends with Matty Healy??"

"Yeah... Can you just leave him alone, okay? Like, what the hell did he do to you guys to deserve this, huh??"

"He flirted with me earlier, and I'm not a fag, okay?? Not to mention that the stutter of his is super annoying, and I'd rather him shut up again then have to hear his voice any longer."

"What even is flirting to you, huh? --"

"He was complimenting me, he fucking said that I looked 'pretty' today, using that exact terminology. That's flirting, okay?"

"Just because he was being nice, that doesn't mean he was trying to get into your pants, jesus christ. You're the only person here who interpreted it as flirting, I bet you had to convince these other guys to agree. Or maybe you didn't have to convince them, and you're all fucking triggered over someone saying something nice, which is pathetic. Hell, I'm being civil and even nice to you guys right now, are you going to interpret that as flirting?? Are you going to kick my ass for being a decent person?? Because if you fucking are, go right ahead, but leave Matty out of this."

The blue eyed boy's face flickered for a moment, showing the slightest bit of confusion and shock. 

The blue eyed boy's name, unbeknownst to Adam, was Zachary. It was weird for Zachary having someone stand up for his victim, it was weird stopping for a moment and actually thinking about what he was doing. It was weird actually analyzing Matty on the ground, his face all wet cheeks and smeared blood. It was weird taking in the scene around him, the kids circled around him, bound together as if they were sewn together intricately like threads in a shirt, reluctant to be ripped apart. It was weird feeling pain, the dull throbbing pain, not only in his face from when this random dude just punched him, but the brief pain in his gut from guilt. What was he doing? Why was he doing this to this kid? 

The impulsive thought that caused this confrontation flashed through his brain again; Because he flirted with you, duh. That's fucking gross. 

But why is it gross? Why is it so fucking bad that he called me pretty? That's a compliment. Why am I getting so worked up over a compliment?

Because he's a guy. He's a fucking guy. And that's gross. He should know that you're straight, it's not like you look gay. Or do you? Do you look like a fag? 

No! I don't. I can't. 

The world was staring at him, judging him, anticipating his next move, and Zachary was beginning to have an existential crisis over if what he was doing to Matty was actually necessary. But he couldn't afford to act like this in front of his peers; he couldn't afford to let them see that he may actually be feeling guilty over his actions. 

So he temporarily stopped his brain from reeling, and tried swinging at the guy who pretty much asked for it, who's name he thinks starts with the letter A. A dodged the punch, yelling at Matty to get up and move. Zachary didn't care at this point about Matty, now he was focused on beating up A,  pushing his questioning thoughts further and further behind him, back into the deepest darkest corners of his mind where they belonged.

x x x x x x

George stared at Matty's bloody and bruised face from his spot underneath the bed. The vivid purples, greens, and blues were splattered all over his face like paint. Matty was trying to wipe the blood off with a wet piece of toilet paper, but every time it touched his face slightly, George noticed Matty wince in pain. 

George had been awake for hours. Yes, boogeymen even sleep; if that's what you want to call it. George felt like it was different than sleep, for his dreams didn't feel like fantasies and trippy collages of random images; they felt so real. Real, to the point where George is starting to believe that they were, at once real, that they were the memories he thought he lost forever. He just earlier today dreamed about one of the vague experiences he remembered telling Matty about previously; the one where he was high as a kite, staring at the stars. He could still feel the last bits of drug induced euphoria tingling slightly all over his body, making his mind the slightest bit fuzzy. He could see the stars, vivid and shining like jewels across the sky's dark navy dress. He could hear the slurred thoughts he was thinking at the time, sweet little high mumblings about his then girlfriend, the one with the nice flavored lip gloss, and the way the stars that night reminded him of the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes.

The sad thing is, he knows he'll forget about his dream by tomorrow; and another memory dream will replace it. He'll think about his dream till then though, because it's one of his more pleasant ones. Most of the dreams put him in a terrible mood; and seeing Matty usually improves his mood greatly.

But today, it was the complete opposite; He was feeling amazing, and then the sight of Matty made him angry and confused. Who the fuck would do this to him? Why?  
His hands were curling into tight fists, his claws digging deep into his skin, to the point where he could feel the slightest bit of blood drip down his hands. He wished he could do something to protect Matty; but he couldn't, he was stuck hiding in the dark, stuck in this shitty home, never able to leave. It'd probably be this way for all eternity, or at least until the sun expands and burns the Earth into ashes in a few million years.  
George was already getting a little stir crazy from staying in the apartment for this long; he can't imagine staying here for millions of years. It made him feel a huge sense of dread; and to think, Matty will only be here for the smallest fraction of that time. He will eventually just be another memory George dreams about, another part of George's confusing and messy past. 

George began to cry silently then; Matty means so much to him now, and he couldn't imagine losing him, never mind completely forgetting him. He couldn't even imagine all the people he forgot that meant this much to him; hell, he couldn't even remember his old girlfriend's name, the one that haunts his dreams constantly, only the slowly fading image of her. 

It wasn't long before Matty's lights were off, the signal that George can come out of hiding. Since it was winter, it didn't take long for the night to come after school. Just a couple of hours, and then the light from the window wouldn't be a problem.

George crawled out, and sat on the floor next to Matty. Matty then immediately asked,

"I heard sniffling coming from under the bed, are you alright?"

George sighed,

"No, not really. I was just thinking about stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, just the fact that I'll never be able to leave here. But we can talk about that later--"

Matty interrupts,

"No, George, you've got to stop dismissing your issues and feelings like they don't matter. Because they do, and trust me when I say that I will find a way to help you get out of this place. Fuck, I've only been here a few years and hate it, and I can leave; I can't imagine being stuck here for decades, centuries, eternities, and not going anywhere. That's crazy; I can't let you endure that. Are you sure you've tried every way to get out of here?"

"Yes, I have. But Matty--"

"Even the window?"

"Even if that did work, I can't scale buildings or shit like that; I would fall and splat like a bug against the ground."

"Didn't you mention something about you climbing to the roof of this building before? If you can do that, why can't you climb down? Hmm?"

"I... don't remember that."

Matty bit his lip, and then simply stated,

"I was going to surprise you with this on the 6 year anniversary of us meeting, but... I'm just going to give this to you now. You know how I always ask you what you dream about? And you think it's sort of useless because we both won't remember what we talked about the next day?"

"Yeah... and?"

"Well..."

George watched as Matty walked over to his backpack, and unzipped the top, his hand reaching in and eventually grabbing a hold of what looks like a small book. George knew that Matty was trying to do whatever it takes to avoid talking about what happened to him; and George also knew that it would be better for him to talk about it in the long run, and not keep it all bottled up inside. So George planned to ask about it when Matty is least expecting it, so he wouldn't be able to dodge the subject anymore.

Matty sat next to George, and handed him the book,

"I recorded all the dreams you talked to me about in this journal. Every single one of them. So now, even if you can't actually remember them, you can read about them, and know that they happened. There's a pen bookmarking the most recent entry; and now, you can record them in there after they happen; everything you thought, felt, saw, heard, tasted, et cetera, et cetera. I hope you like it."

George was speechless then; he flipped through the pages, most filled with Matty's familiar messy scrawl. He grinned; he would never have to worry about forgetting dreams anymore, and he would never have to worry about forgetting Matty. The only issue was that eventually, he'd run out of space and paper. But that wouldn't be for a long time.  
Unbeknownst to Matty, George wouldn't just record dreams in there; he would record the best parts of his and Matty's conversations, and would record any good experiences had in the room.

He would never record the bad things though. That's the only thing he'd say he liked about his shitty memory; he doesn't remember anything traumatizing or bad that happened to him; nor would he ever. It would all be good things, everything positive. Maybe that's living as somewhat of a little white lie, a sugared up version of the truth, but George didn't care; he had some feeling, deep in his gut, that he was not good at coping with bad events, and that he wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Thank you Matty... this means the world to me."

"It's no problem at all,"

Matty glanced at George, and the earlier forehead kiss suddenly came into his mind. Usually, Matty took appearance into account when developing a crush on someone. But even with George's many grotesque blisters, pointed ears, and claws, Matty found himself filling up with admiration for the monstrous being. Just seeing George happy because of him made Matty feel... he didn't know how to describe it, but it was one of the best feelings in existence. Matty was starting to interpret this weird yet amazing feeling as love. It scared him, but it was nice at the same time.

George then hugged Matty. It wasn't a suffocating hug; it was a gentle squeeze, and both of the boys felt the purest kind of joy imaginable.

George didn't know if he really wanted to bring up Matty's wounds anymore and ruin this wonderful moment, but he did know he was definitely was going to record this moment in his journal tonight after Matty fell asleep.

x x x x x x


End file.
